Trial and Error
by Untitled Playlist
Summary: Why is life always the hardest when you try to live it normally? The day to day life of some of our beloved characters who are just trying to make it to tomorrow.
1. Free at last

**Summary:** Why is life always the hardest when you try to live it normally? The day to day life of some of our beloved characters who are just trying to make it to tomorrow.

**Author's Note:** This fanfiction was birthed from many conversations about Heroes, the characters, the plot, everything basically. So know in advance that you are stepping into a fanfiction that is loosely based on the characters it mentions. They are more exaggerated versions and I apologize if you don't like them. Furthermore there is a fair amount of Peter bashing and I would be sorry about this but 1) Peter is one of my favorite characters (at least season one Peter) and 2) He makes it too easy.

**Warning:** I don't have a beta for this fic, so sorry about the grammar.

**Trial and Error**

**Chapter 1**

Free at last…or so he thought.

Signing his last form with a practiced flourish of his hand he gave a sigh, leaned back in his chair and ran a hand through his growing hair. It had been a long day at the office, dealing with the usual minutiae that normally hit him on a day to day basis. But for some odd reason, today was especially exhausting.

Chancing a glance at his clock a small smirk twisted his lips as it read the appropriate time for him to leave the office, grab some dinner and head home for some much needed and much deserved rest. He stood and stretched, giving a tired groan, then walked over to his coat hanger and pulled on his suit jacket tugging on it where it needed to be fixed. Pausing for a moment he cocked his head to the side. A strange incessant tone had caught his ear and for a brief moment fear gripped at his heart. But before being even slightly discernable, the noise was gone and he was once again calm.

And then it happened.

The instant his hand closed around the door knob to truly signify his freedom, a buzz was emitted from his phone, signaling that his secretary had something to tell him, which meant that his day, unfortunately, was not yet over.

Clenching his jaw he strode over to his desk and slammed his finger against the annoying button.

"What is it Abby?" his voice doing an extremely poor job of hiding his annoyance.

"I'm sorry Mr. Petrelli" came a small voice "but…"

Realization hit him painfully hard, like two bullets to the chest. The noise, the incessant tone that he had heard wasn't a passing ambulance or fire truck that would set any normal pair of eardrums on fire, oh no. This was another thing entirely, something much worse than a police siren or any other of the sort.

And for the second time that day pure and utter fear gripped at his heart.

"…your brother's here" Abby finished.

Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose, a migraine already setting in.

"Why didn't you tell him I was gone for the day?!" he hissed, his free hand clenching and unclenching in an attempt to stave off stress.

"I tried" she whispered harshly "but you-you know how…_insistent _he is!"

Through the tiny speaker he could hear the chanting that he dreaded so much. The chanting that would keep him awake for nights on end because he couldn't drive it from his mind.

"Let-him-in"

Each word was clipped, practically bitten off from the anger that was coursing through his being. He was so close to being out of the office. He could taste the freedom and relief that came with leaving after a hard days work and as usual, Peter had to ruin it.

Nathan threw his body down into his chair and immediately cursed, throwing his hands out to catch him as the back tipped towards the floor. The chair was broken.

Great.

Pushing the button from earlier Nathan instructed Abby to call up whoever it was that needed calling and get him a new chair, stat.

Then he heard it. It was low at first but increased in volume as the source drew closer and closer and closer to his office.

"NathanNathanNathanNathan!"

Closing his eyes he drew in a long slow breath through his nose and let it pour out of him through his mouth. He'd dealt with Peter almost his entire life, one more time consuming, agonizingly painful, angering interaction wouldn't kill him…hopefully.

The door to his office was suddenly thrown open as if by an unusually strong gust of wind and the exuberant idiot himself was bouncing happily on the balls of his feet in front of Nathan's desk.

"Peter," Nathan tried his best to sound chipper "what a surprise."

The younger man's eyes were beaming with some unshared joy just waiting to burst out and Nathan sat in anger waiting for the news that caused him so much happiness.

"NathanNathanNathan!!!"

The older brother stared dead-pan at him, choosing not to point out the fact that Peter had had his attention.

"Yes?" he growled.

"GuesswhatGuesswhatGuesswhat!"

Nathan decided that staying silent would be the best answer at a time like this. Peter would undoubtedly spew forth what he wanted to say having heard a guess or not.

"I got a job!"

Letting out a small sigh of relief, Nathan was glad that the chanting was over and-wait…

"Didn't you…have a job already Pete?" he asked quizzically.

"I did" Peter answered "but I quit, remember?"

To be completely honest no, he didn't remember at all but being the diplomat he was he smiled at his brother and nodded in a fashion that denoted 'oh how silly of me, of course I remember you quitting your job!'

Peter flashed him a crooked smile and resumed his bouncing.

"Wanna know what I do now?"

Nathan rubbed his brow ridge in an attempt to soothe his pounding head.

"What do you do now?" he asked tiredly.

"I'm a paramedic!" Peter announced joyously. His hands thrust in the air not unlike a certain time traveling, teleporting, sword wielding character we know.

Nathan took notice of the action and shook his head "Put your arms down Peter."

Ignoring the comment the prettier of the two brothers would put his hands down when he was good and ready. Patiently he awaited his older brother's praise…which sadly did not come.

"You're a paramedic?" Nathan asked, unimpressed.

Shot down, Peter shoved his hands in his pockets, his eyes growing a bit dull.

"Yes" he answered cautiously.

"Pete..."Nathan paused and sighed, trying his best to prepare himself for what he was about to say "doesn't becoming a nurse take more schooling than becoming a paramedic?"

Peter silently contemplated his brother's observation, his tongue poking out slightly in thought.

"Yes" he answered finally.

"Okay then" Nathan continued "then becoming a paramedic would be a step down from a nurse, wouldn't it?"

It took all of his strength to not call Peter an idiot and send him flying out of his office. The last thing he wanted to do was upset the younger man and cause him to throw a fit and make a scene.

"Mm-Hmm" Peter nodded, slowly rocking back and forth on his heels. Not sure in the slightest what his brother was getting at.

"So then why would you want to become a paramedic, when being a nurse is what you went to school for." Nathan concluded and stood from his broken chair smoothing down his jacket. He thought he handled the situation quite well if he did say so himself. Peter didn't seem to be taking the observation to harshl-wait…

Nathan watched exasperatedly as the familiar expression of anger crept onto Peter's features. The jutting of the chin was the final step and…

"You always have to crush my dreams Nathan!!!!" he cried, crossing his arms over his chest.

The older man rolled his eyes and let out a breath. He was stupid to think that he had avoided the minefield.

"Pete, I'm not saying to not be a paramedic what I am saying is think about it." Peter still glared hard at him. Nothing that could be said now would make him feel better unless it was what he wanted to hear.

"You can never just be happy for me!" he griped "You're the first person that I wanted to tell about this and you can't even…" his voice cracked and he held a hand to his mouth.

"Oh no" Nathan whispered under his breath, taking a step towards his brother an outstretched hand reaching to comfort. Peter pulled away before the hand could make landing on his shoulder and tried in vain to hide his tears.

"You can't even be happy for me" the statement now completely lost its anger and was said in the weepiest voice a human can muster.

Nathan groaned and ran a hand down his face. When Peter was crying it was absolutely impossible to deal with him.

"This is just like that time that I told you I could fl-"

"Oh-kay!" Nathan quickly shoved Peter out of the way to get to the open office door and shut it firmly, a couple of staff members already looking in and openly gaping at the crying 27 year old.

Turning around Nathan gave a small sigh of relief and shot a look at his brother who was currently picking himself up off the floor, tears still in his eyes.

"Peter how many times am I going to have to tell you! You can't-"

"Spread this stuff around" Peter finished snippily, wiping at his eyes angrily.

The older brother nodded and smoothed down his jacket once more, obviously trying to keep his nerve and not throttle his kin. But unbeknownst to the two brothers, the staff members that had been lingering outside were now doing their best to peek through the blinds shielding Nathan's office, trying to get a better look at the duo.

"Five bucks he cries for five minutes this time" whispered a new intern, fishing for said cash in his pocket.

"I'll take that bet" someone chirped.

"I would, but I'm already in the office pool" Abby said, filing her nails as she watched through a small slit she cut out for herself in the blinds. It had become a tradition, since the younger of the two brothers started visiting, that the staff would bet on which days he would cry. Abby had next Friday.

"What do you think he's crying about this time?" a woman carrying a box of files asked, stopping to take a peek.

"Dunno, probably world hunger."

"Or a break up."

"Or an ice cream cone he dropped."

They giggled and watched as Peter waved his arms around wildly, most likely in the middle of making a point. Nathan stood and watched, his dead-pan expression unchanged by the younger mans heartfelt explanations.

"Is he going for the door?" someone whispered hastily after a few minutes.

"Scatter!" Abby hissed, waving her hands to shoo them away and scurried over to her own desk, pretending that she was getting ready to go home.

"I'm sure Claude will be happy" Nathan's voice poured out into the hall through his now open office door.

"Nailed it!" a portly man with glasses rejoiced in a hushed tone and smiled as a young blonde slipped a twenty into his waiting hand.

"I still say he's Bi" she stated, crossing her arms loosely over her chest.

Peter stayed silent as he walked out into the hall, his eyes still rimmed with red and a tissue balled tightly in his fist.

"I'll call you tomorrow" Nathan said, patting his brother's shoulder. He silently thanked the heavens that their interaction was almost at an end.

The younger Petrelli nodded and shuffled his way down the hall still sniffling slightly. Nathan didn't dare take his eyes off Peter's retreating form until he turned the corner and was no longer visible. The senator leaned heavily against his office door and ran a hand through his hair. If he had been tired before he was exhausted now. He silently wondered many a night if one of his younger brother's abilities was being able to drain him completely of any energy he had. Nathan shook his head in an attempt to wake himself up and retreated into his office, doing a once over before snatching up his briefcase and successfully walking over the threshold and into the hallway, finally on his way home.

"Have a nice night sir!" Abby called after him, zipping up her purse.

Nathan raised an arm in response, turned the corner, and was gone from sight.

"He only cried for two minutes"

"Damnit" the intern sighed and reluctantly handed over his five.

"There's always next time" the winner smiled and walked away, pocketing his reward.

"Abby!"

Everyone froze. Nathan's voice carried down the hall, an unwanted visitor.

"Y-Yes sir?" Abby asked warily.

"Put me down for the 31st" Nathan informed her, walking back around the corner and stopping.

"I'm sorry sir…I don't understand" Abby fidgeted nervously, her voice shaking slightly.

Nathan gave her a knowing glance and shakily Abby added her bosses name to the list of people in the office pool.

"Thanks" he smiled and gave her a curt nod. Spinning and rounding the corner once more he knew that the 31st would definitely be a winner.

The office members were still in suspended animation before a tiny red-headed woman cleared her throat and smoothed down her skirt.

"Did anyone else just shit a brick?" she asked quietly and a silent nod was shared between the co-workers.

It had been a really long day.


	2. Lust and Good Intentions don't Mix

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Heroes.

**Author's Note: **There is actually a deviantart that goes along with this chapter. It's by starrdust411 and its titled "Cookies for Claude", swing over and check it out!!!

**Trial and Error**

**Chapter 2**

Lust And Good Intentions Don't Mix.

"CookiesCookiesCookiesCookies!" the young man chanted to himself, a small smile playing on his lips as he very carefully laid the last cookie on a decorative plate.

For the last couple of weeks Claude had been coming home with an attitude that could rival a bull elephant during mating season. Peter wasn't sure why or even what was wrong, but he knew the older man always enjoyed a nice snack; so then why not some homemade cookies from the heart?

It had taken Peter nearly all day to get the recipe right, but once he had it he knew that all the trouble he had gone to was completely and utterly worth it. He sighed happily as he glanced over his creations one last time, feeling proud that he had finally done something right.

Looking at the clock he stretched and tucked a hair behind his ear. It was two-thirty, and even though there was never a set time for Claude's arrival, he liked to come home around the late afternoon or early evening, always pining for dinner. So Peter had some time to clean up the apartment without running into any disturbances or unwanted wallops to the head with a stick.

He placed the cookies on the top of the stove and put the baking pan into the sink, chanting fervently as he does when he's excited. He scrubbed it clean and slowly moved through all the dishes he used to make his wonderful morsels of love. That is, until a knock sounded at the door.

Startled the young man looked up, confusion contorting his features, he wasn't expecting anyone today. To be completely honest it was rare when anyone came over, unless it was Nathan fixing to push some un-welcomed ideas onto him, but he was at work.

"Just a sec!" he called out, drying his hands on a dish towel. Tossing the towel onto the counter he walked over to the door and opened it up just enough to see who it was.

"Claire!" he flashed a crooked smile, choking down the urge to continue repeating her name. He opened up the door wider, gesturing for her to come in "What are you doing here?"

"I decided to visit for the weekend." she replied chipperly, walking over the threshold and into the apartment.

"Does Nathan know you're here?" he asked while shutting the door.

"Not yet," she answered, glancing over some of the many books in his bookcase "I'm going to see him later." she reached out and ran a finger along the spine of one of the hard covers, liking the feeling of the texture against her skin.

"How've you been?" he questioned, leaning against the doorframe of the living room, still surprised to see her.

"Pretty good." she smiled and turned around to face the young nurse turned paramedic "Claude home?"

Peter shook his head "He's out for the day. He's been in a really bad mood lately, I'm not sure why…" he trailed off sadly, furrowing his eyebrows together in thought.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Claire mumbled, fingering a button on the long coat she was wearing.

"So how long are you here for?" Peter questioned, rousing himself from his thoughts on the bearded one.

"We're leaving tonight." she informed him, walking over to the doorway of the bedroom and peering in "Is this your room?"

"You're leaving so soon." Peter sighed, wishing he would have company more often. He walked over to where she was standing and nodded "Yep, this is my room."

"It's cute!" she smiled and walked into it, looking around and running a hand along the sheets of his perfectly made bed.

"I don't mean this the wrong way but…what are you doing here Claire?" he finally asked during a rare spell of proper brain function, a hand rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

The cheerleader turned to face him and sent him a smile as she sat down on his bed and sank into his sheets.

"What, I can't visit my uncle without having a reason?" she mused, her eyes glittering with humor.

"I'm not saying that it's just…" he trailed off noticing her attire, "Why are you wearing a coat?"

She smirked, "So what _are_ you saying?"

"You just popped in here and you really haven't said anything except 'is Claude home'." the young man shifted uncomfortably in the doorway, his niece now staring at him as if he were a giant chocolate milkshake.

"Claire what's wr-"

The girl moved with remarkable speed. She practically pole vaulted off the bed and was inches from his face in mere seconds. Peter let out a yelp as she pinned him to the wall, holding him with one hand as she quickly unbuttoned her coat with the other.

"Claire!" Peter shrieked, not wanting to hurt her but pushing her off anyway.

She stumbled back and smiled at him innocently, "What?" she opened up her coat, letting it slide off her shoulders and fall gracefully to the floor. Peter covered his eyes, trying to forget what he'd just seen.

Her lingerie was barely covering the parts that needed to be covered. The black and light pink materials making her skin seem brighter, more delicate. She had bothered to go to the trouble of using garter belts, her stockings matching the bra and panty very well. If nothing else, Peter had to commend her on being able to put together an outfit with impeccable taste.

"Don't tell me you don't feel the same way too Peter." she breathed, sashaying towards him, her hips swaying from side to side.

He stepped back into the living room trying his best to think out a plan of escape, "I don't know what you're talking about." he pointed at her coat discarded on the floor "_Put your coat back on!!!"_

"Oh c'mon Peter, don't start playing hard to get." the young girl smirked advancing on him.

The paramedic continued his back tracking into the kitchen where he was stopped, much to his dismay, by his kitchen counter. He went for the door but Claire wasn't stupid, she blocked his exit smiling seductively at him, her eyes alight with lust.

Before he could go for the fire escape the high-schooler threw him up against the counter again, fueled with the prospect of finally fulfilling a desire she had kept locked up for too long.

"Ow," he whimpered, rubbing his back "when did you get so strong?"

Claire ignored his question. Bunching up the front of his shirt in her fist she pulled him towards her and gently forced him down to the ground.

"Claire!" Peter hissed, eyes wild with fear "What the hell are you doing!?!"

"Mmmm," she moaned, tossing her head back as if she were in ecstasy "say my name again."

She straddled his waist as he struggled. He was torn between not wanting to hurt her and wanting to get away as much as humanly possible.

"Stop being so difficult." she cooed as she pulled up his shirt, running her nails down his stomach.

"I'm your _uncle!" _Peter cried still struggling beneath her.

"I know," she answered simply, a devilish smile crossing her features "but that still doesn't mean that I don't want it."

"Oh I am _SO_ telling your mother!" Peter screamed, finally giving into his need to get away and pushing her off of him.

She landed on the kitchen floor with a soft 'oof' and Peter scrambled to the door. He had his hand around the knob and was about to turn it when he was sent crashing to the ground from a sudden weight on his back.

"It'll be fun!" Claire said reassuringly, flipping him over and pushing her hair out of her face "I promise."

Peter felt tears welling up in his eyes as she ripped off his shirt and popped the button of his jeans "Why are you raping me?" he whimpered pathetically.

The blonde fixed him with a dead-pan stare "Cause you're hot and I'm horny."

She started pushing down his jeans, exposing his dark blue boxers.

"Besides, it's not rape if you want it too." she grunted, trying her best to get his jeans off.

"But I _don't _want it!" the victim sniffled, still struggling to get away.

"Oh please," Claire rolled her eyes and straddled his waist once more "don't think I didn't notice the way you looked at me when we first met."

She ran her hand over his chest and sighed happily, staring at him hungrily.

"This is going to be the best night of your li-"

"Peter, you'r-"

Nathan stood in the doorway of Peter's apartment, open mouthed and pointing at the door, trying his best to take in the scene in front of him and mulling over whether he should shoot himself now or later.

"Wh- I – Pe…" Nathan pinched the bridge of his nose and took in a deep breath, getting his thoughts in order.

"Claire," he finally said "I didn't know you were in town."

Said cheerleader sat frozen on her uncle, her mouth open in an attempt to say something but she ultimately decided against it settling on just smiling and nodding. They stood frozen like that for a few moments before Claire slowly stood up, walked quickly and quietly to the bedroom retrieving her coat, slipped it on, and leaving quickly from the apartment. But not before shooting her uncle with a look that clearly stated 'this isn't over.'

Nathan breathed in through his nose and let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair.

"Pete-"

"Nathan I was so scared!" Peter scrambled to his feet and launched himself at his brother, tightly wrapping his arms around him.

"Peter, okay, okay, settle down…" Nathan tried his best to shake his younger brother off but to no avail. The politician went limp in his brother's arms, letting Peter squeeze the life out of him until he was content.

"She-she-she-she-came in-and-and-and-and-took off her clothes, and then" he hiccupped "she took mine-mine-mine-mine off too!!" he wailed and Nathan dislodged an arm from his brother's vice like grip and patted his head comfortingly.

"There, there" he said flatly "it'll be okay."

A while passed before the younger Petrelli finally let go and pulled his jeans back on. After explaining the events that transpired to Nathan and his disgust, all was set as right as they could be and new rules were given to the paramedic.

"You are not allowed to be alone with Claire, okay?" Nathan kept constant eye contact with his brother, praying that he would understand this "Now repeat it."

"You are not allowed-"

"Say I," Nathan muttered "Idiot."

"I are not allowed to be alone with Claire anymore, Okay?"

It was the best answer that he was going to get from his younger brother's traumatized mind. After consoling him a bit more and asking him some questions about flowers and which ones were better for apologies, Nathan left as quickly as he came and Peter was again alone.

The twenty seven year old sniffled and looked at the clock, it was now six and Claude would be home any minute. Jumping up from his seat on the couch he walked to the bedroom and pulled on a new shirt then trotted happily to the kitchen, dawning an apron that he had bought himself a few weeks ago. He then snatched up the cookies from earlier and eagerly awaited the arrival of his love.

"ClaudeClaudeClaudeClaude!" he bounced on his feet happily, hearing the tell tale sign of keys jingling which meant that Claude was home.

As the door swung open Peter smiled brightly, "I made cookies!"

Claude glanced at the plate, brought up his hand underneath it and threw it from Peter's grasp, showering the floor with cookies and shards of glass as he stomped his way through the apartment and slammed the bedroom door shut behind him.

Peter dissolved into tears and sobs as he ran to the couch and hugged himself, trying hard not to think of how his day had turned into complete and utter shit.

Fifteen minutes passed and he was still on the couch, though the tears and sobs had turned to mere sniffles. He perked up once he heard the bedroom door open. Sitting up he turned to look at Claude who was walking into the kitchen, expecting some form of an explanation or comfort.

"Stop your boo-hooing and clean up this mess!"

Well, at least he knew Claire loved him.


	3. Beef and Problems

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Heroes. Sorry these aren't more creative.

**Author's Note: **I don't condone poking fun at other people's religions. Everyone should be respected no matter what they do or don't believe in. Matt is just a hungry idiot.

**Trial and Error **

**Chapter 3**

Beef and Problems with a Side of Stalker Please.

Matt liked to think of himself as an un-complicated man. He was a meat and potatoes kinda guy like most of America's citizens. So when he came home after a long day on the job all he wanted to do was grab a cold one, sit in his favorite chair, and watch whatever was on the tube. So was it so much to ask to just make him dinner?

"It is when it's against my religion!" Mohinder argued, a fist firmly planted on his hip.

"It's just steak Mohinder." Matt sighed tiredly.

"Just steak," Mohinder snapped "Matt cows are sacred in India!"

"Really." Matt responded, clearly unimpressed.

"You're unbelievable!" Mohinder spun around, grabbing some dishes off the counter that had already been scrubbed to perfection and cleaning them again angrily.

"Mohinder its _one_ steak, one tiny little steak; I'm sure Shebalba or whoever it is that you believe in won't mind." Matt said nonchalantly, taking a swig from his open beer can.

Mohinder turned around slowly pursing his lips "Shebalba?" he asked, the word clipped "Shebalba, okay, Shebalba" he repeated. Each time the word was filled with more and more malice and slowly Matt started to fear for his life.

Without warning the geneticist picked up a plate and launched it into the air hitting Matt on the face.

"OW!" the police officer cried rubbing his face as the plate crashed to the floor, "That's domestic abuse!"

"Yeah well you're an arsehole!"

"It's _ass."_

"I HAVE AN ACCENT!" the Indian man roared.

The two continued squabbling, throwing choice insults at each other until it was just too much to bear for a young pair of ears.

"Guys?" Molly asked warily, walking out of her room cautiously.

Almost immediately the two men stopped their bickering and looked at her, their features softening.

"Don't walk over here sweetie, there's broken glass on the floor." Matt cautioned.

"Is everything okay?" a dumb question she realized, but necessary nonetheless.

"Everything's fine sweetheart," Mohinder said reassuringly shooting a glare at Matt "your father is just being a complete dullard at the moment."

Matt shot a look in Mohinder's direction "Don't worry about a thing sweetie, your _mommy's _just bitter about not having a real job and having to cook all the time."

He walked over and ruffled Molly's hair as he turned her around by her shoulders "Go work on your homework until dinner's on the table."

He smiled, patted her back gently and scooted her towards her room. The two waited until Molly was tucked away safely before continuing their earlier conversation.

"I don't see why it's such a big deal." Matt said finally.

"Because you're an idiot." Mohinder hissed, narrowing his eyes.

"I told you that I would cook it myself, but you won't let me near the damn stove!" the officer pointed out.

"You'll end up burning down the entire building!" Mohinder reasoned, gently putting away the twice cleaned plates.

Matt opened his mouth to respond to this but realized the truth in the other man's words. He shrugged and took another sip of his beer, hey when Mohinder was right he was right.

"So what's for dinner?" the defeated partner asked while slumping down into a chair.

"Take out." the taxi driver replied quickly, tossing a Chinese menu at his crestfallen roommate.

"What," Matt picked up the menu and looked at Mohinder incredulously "are you serious?!"

"They have beef and broccoli." Mohinder informed him coolly, shrugging his shoulders and crossing one leg over the other as he leaned against the kitchen counter. 

"Don't be like this Mo!" the detective whined as he slid the menu across the table.

"My energies spent. Besides what ever I whip up for you won't be as satisfying as a steak." the geneticist said mockingly and walked over to his work station, plopping down and starting his lap top. "And don't call me Mo." he added as an afterthought.

Matt sighed and dropped his head on the table making a resounding 'thud' which Mohinder ignored tap tap tapping away on his keyboard.

"I guess I'm on the couch tonight." the telepath griped, sitting up and finishing off his beer.

"For once your assumption is spot on." the Indian man mumbled and continued to type on his keyboard, ignoring any and all puppy dog eyed looks that Matt was sending his way.

Giving in, Matt stood up and started to clean up the large shards of glass on the kitchen floor "I can't believe you threw a plate at me…" he muttered tossing the shards into the bin.

"I can't believe you directed traffic for eleven years."

The cop whistled "Oh, low blow."

|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|*|

It was one-thirty pm in the Suresh/Parkman/Walker residence and two of the occupants were sound asleep.

Molly lay nestled beneath her sheets. A belly full of Chinese cuisine and a head full with memories of another tense dinner between her two fathers.

Mohinder laid in his bed snoring softly, blankets tangled around his legs as he tossed and turned trying his best to find a comfortable position to rest in. Curling into a fetal position he smiled sleepily and continued on dreaming of whatever geneticist dream about.

But all was not as peaceful as it seemed.

Bit by bit the bedroom window crept up quietly, barely making a sound. Ultimately this would prove unfortunate for the scientist but fortuitous for the cause of this strange occurrence.

Two brown eyes topped with epically intense eyebrows stared into the bedroom between the open slit the window created. Not wanting to count his chickens, the intruder didn't celebrate just yet. He waited patiently as he slowly but surely pushed up the window, thankful that it wasn't as creaky as it looked.

When the opening was finally big enough he climbed inside and smiled viciously, mentally patting himself on the back.

"Oh Mohinder," he whispered softly, looking down hungrily at the sleeping man "you're beautiful."

Sylar fought the urge to snatch up the sleeping form and make away with him. The killer had no doubt in his mind that his day would come…eventually.

Creeping closer to the bed Sylar gazed at his beloved sighing contently. He took in the Indian man's sleep tousled pitch colored curls, his lovely velvet smooth chocolate brown skin, the way he curled into himself as he dreamed peacefully, the small amount of drool seeping from the side of his mouth. It was almost too much for Sylar to handle, but he kept quiet despite this fact. Not wanting to ruin the moment that he had created for himself.

He took one last step towards the bed and leaned down, hovering a hand over Mohinder's shoulder. He let out a ragged breath and slowly moved it down the length of the taxi driver's body.

"Mohinder," Sylar breathed almost soundlessly "if you want to cuddle, don't say anything."

The geneticist stood silent. Still snoring softly he turned onto his right side, exposing his back to the cereal killer.

"I knew it!" Sylar whispered triumphantly.

He quietly made his way to the other side of the bed, removed his jacket and carefully descended onto the mattress. He was about to adjust himself when he heard the floorboards creak.

Startled, the man with epic eyebrows looked up and noticed a dark figure standing in the doorway of the bedroom. A small click sounded and the bedroom was suddenly flooded with much too bright light. The murderer squinted but refused to move his hands to shield his eyes from the blinding luminance, scared that the motion might shake the bed.

Once his irises adjusted he saw Matt Parkman in the doorway, a beer in his grasp.

Sylar glared at the man and opened his mouth to say something but then took into account the fact that Mohinder was still sleeping. Matt looked at him, his expression saying one thing and one thing only, complete and utter boredom.

"Sylar," he sighed and rubbed his brow ridge with his free hand "I told you that this can't keep happening, not while Molly's here."

"As if I care what you say." the wanted man snipped, glancing back down at his love.

"I told you, Fridays only." Matt said, obviously annoyed "We've been over this a hundred times."

They both froze as Mohinder stirred, mumbling something completely incoherent.

"Get out Parkman. You're ruining this for me!" Sylar hissed as he slowly stood up straight.

"If you don't leave, I'm going to wake him up." the telepath threatened.

"You wouldn't dare." Sylar growled, fixing the officer with a steely glare.

Matt raised his eyebrows and spread his arms, "Wanna try me?"

Having enough of the rotund man Sylar raised his hand and flicked his fingers in his iconic fashion, almost to fast for the eye to see. Matt was sent crashing against the doorframe and back out into the living room.

Sylar sighed, rolling his head on his shoulders silently wishing that it hadn't had come to this. He really didn't feel like killing tonight, even a murderer needed his R&R.

Remembering his reason for being there he looked back down at the bed, surprised to see that the noise hadn't woken Mohinder.

"Sleep well my angel." he whispered and stalked out of the room in pursuit of his prey.

Matt was sprawled out on the living room floor groaning in pain, "Shit." he muttered and rolled his head to the side, trying to asses the damage when a tiny shimmer caught his eye.

His beer can lay crumpled next to the kitchen table, a huge dent in its side from the impact of hitting one of the legs. Its contents were spilled out across various spots on the floor and walls, each one glistening in the soft light of the TV.

"No," Matt said, his voice panicked "No!"

That was his last beer.

The last beer was the one that should have been consumed with the most careful appreciation, undying enjoyment and most importantly, love. Yet there it laid, strewn across the floor, a frothy mess.

He felt his breath catch in his throat and quickly scrambled to his knees crawling over to the cans side, careful not to touch any of the precious liquid. He picked it up slowly and gently shook it.

It was empty.

Matt shook his head slowly, his vision foggy with tears. This wasn't supposed to happen. It wasn't supposed to end like this.

"Get up Parkman." a voice demanded behind him and he stood, turning around slowly, can still in hand.

"I'm going to enjoy this." Sylar admitted darkly, raising his hand once more. But this time, Matt was having none of it.

Without a second thought he charged at Sylar taking the taller man completely off guard. They hit the ground with a loud thud, resurrecting Mohinder from his death like slumber.

"Wha..?" he sat up quickly, sleep blurring his vision.

Various shouts and curses were streaming into his room from the living room and he sighed as he untangled his legs from his sheets. Matt always had a bad habit of blasting the TV when everyone else was sleeping. The Indian man stumbled out of bed and walked haphazardly to the doorway, not at all expecting the sight that was playing out before him.

"Say it!" Matt cried, his legs wrapped tightly around the killer's frame as he yanked on his hair. Said murderer was trying his best to send the officer flying across the room without being dragged along.

Swearing and swinging at each other they ping-ponged around the room, crushing anything and everything in their path. Mohinder was in shock, what was Sylar doing here? Why was he in the apartment with Molly not 15 feet away?

"Sylar?" was the only thing Mohinder could muster. He scratched the back of his head wondering if he was still dreaming.

Even though his name was said so softly, the second it left Mohinder's lips Sylar stopped his beatings and looked to the doorway, eyes sparkling when he realized Mohinder was standing there.

"Mohinder." Sylar said, ravishing the man's name with his tone. Matt sent him a look with his un-bruised eye.

"Ew." the telepath stated simply and Sylar threw him across the room again, not bothering to notice the look of horror on Mohinder's features.

"What are you doing here?" Mohinder snapped defensively, already blocking the way to Molly's room.

"I needed to see you." Sylar answered chillingly.

"You need to leave." the protective father said tersely, pointing towards the front door.

"So this is how you greet me after being apart for so long?" Sylar said accusingly, "I'm not feeling very welcomed doctor, we need to work on that."

Mohinder watched him cautiously, his body tense with worry. They heard Matt groan from the kitchen, the clatter of wood as he shifted, moving his joints.

"I think I broke something." Matt grunted, slowly getting to his feet.

"I'm glad you haven't moved from this place." Sylar sighed, looking around nostalgically "We have so much history here."

Sylar watched Mohinder, amusement dancing in his eyes. The professor stood his ground, glaring back at the tall man almost daring him to do something.

"Get out." the Indian man said, his voice hard.

"I love it when you sound stern." the dark eyed man smirked, taking a step forward.

But before Mohinder could react he heard a crash and Sylar went limp, falling to the floor unconscious, glass scattered around his body. Mohinder looked up to see Matt swaying slightly, the top portion of a vase in his grip.

"Love that motherfucker!" he tossed the rest of the vase down, adding to the wreckage.

Mohinder looked at him, an eyebrow raised.

"You have something against one-liners?" Matt questioned and Mohinder sighed and shook his head, a smiled creeping across his face despite his efforts.

"You look horrible." Mohinder said flatly.

"Oh thank you sweetie, you look nice too!" Matt responded quickly, bending down and grabbing Sylar by the hands, "Help me with this."

"I can lift him." Mohinder suggested but Matt declined with a shake of his head, wanting to relish in the satisfaction of taking down Sylar.

Mohinder nodded and grabbed the unconscious man's ankles. They lifted on three and shuffled their way to the door and eventually into the hall.

"What now?" the geneticist asked, looking around curiously.

"Garbage chute?"

"Too small."

"Looks like the curb then." the ex LAPD officer finished and hoisted up the concussed man once more, Mohinder following suit.

After a difficult trip outside-which entailed much cursing, some stealth, and a lot of effort on Matt's part-both men returned upstairs job well done. They quietly celebrated the fact that the couch was still very much intact and flopped onto it, Matt wiping the sweat from his brow.

"That was fun." Matt mused, breathing heavily.

Mohinder looked at him and scoffed, fanning himself with his hand "I'm going to go check on Molly."

Matt nodded and stretched out onto the couch when Mohinder stood, wincing slightly as he adjusted himself. His right eye had already swollen shut and his back, among other things, was bruised. But it was worth it.

Mohinder tip toed to Molly's door, opening it slowly and poking his head around the corner. Of course the young girl was awake from all the noise sounding from the rest of the apartment. She was on her bed flipping through 'Where the Sidewalk Ends' one of her favorite books.

"Molly," Mohinder smiled "are you alright?"

She looked up and nodded "I'm okay." she flipped another page of the book and looked back up at him, "Were you and Matt fighting again?"

"Oh no." Mohinder said soothingly, he stepped into her room and sat on the edge of her bed.

"We…" he trailed off wondering what to tell her. "We were just moving some furniture around." he finished lamely.

She looked at him, unconvinced "At almost two in the morning?"

"It was a very pressing matter."

Molly giggled and Mohinder leaned forward, gently kissing her forehead, "I'm sorry for making so much noise."

The young girl shrugged and snuggled beneath her sheets lying back.

"Get some rest." Mohinder said softly and stood, walking out of her room and closing the door softly behind him.

Molly looked at the ceiling and sighed, shaking her head. She knew that Sylar had snuck into the house to watch Mohinder sleep again.

"Grown-ups." she grumbled, closing her eyes.

It was definitely Tuesday.


	4. Cleaning out the Closet

**Disclaimer:** Don't own Heroes.

**Author's Note:** I've been trying to update on Wednesday's, but chapter five might be a little late. Sorry in advance. I hope you enjoy this chapter!!!

**Trial and Error**

**Chapter 4**

Cleaning out the Closet

Everyone loves Fridays. It's basically a proven fact that once work is done on a Friday, you celebrate the upcoming weekend with a little party time shared with friends.

"T.G.I.F!" Matt cried out as he entered Nathan's apartment, six-pack held above his head in some sort of mock salute. Gathered around a card table in the living room the waiting players turned to look at him.

"Get your fat ass over here and let's start the game."

Nathan looked over at one of their newest poker night members "For someone who used to be called a mute you're sure talking a lot."

The Haitian shrugged and shuffled the cards "After years of not saying anything, I figured it would be a good time to start unleashing it now."

Matt sat next to Nathan unbothered by the comment and nestled the beer safely between his feet. Nathan glanced down and shook his head at Matt's obvious beer neurosis. He had heard in great detail what had happened that past Tuesday and knew that it had been a hard blow for Matt. And the fact that Mohinder was being stalked was messed up too.

"Man, am I happy to be away from the wife!" Matt joked, looking around the table and stopping once he made eye-contact with deep brown eyes.

"What is he doing here?" Matt hissed, glaring at the epic eyebrow man.

"We were short on players and he knows the game." Nathan explained with a shrug "I know what happened, but I thought that we could all be adults here and put the past behind us." he sent a smile to Sylar which the serial killer didn't return. He just stared back eerily intense.

Nathan sucked his teeth "okay…"

"If you girls are done gossipin'…"

"Don't get your panties in a twist Casper." the Haitian replied, sliding the deck over to Claude so he could deal.

"Oh aren't you a clever one!" Claude gasped sarcastically before he picked up the cards and shuffled them again.

They watched as Claude dealt their cards, each wishing that luck was on their side tonight. Hands hovered over their respective piles, eager to begin, and just as they went to pick them up, a thud came from the hallway closet.

Sylar's brows furrowed and he turned around in his seat which creaked angrily in protest.

"What was that?"

The Haitian peered around him, looking at the hall closet questioningly as well.

"That," Nathan answered bitterly "is Peter."

Sylar turned around to look at the politician "You locked your own brother in the closet?"

"Peter's in the closet!" Matt laughed, holding up his fist and lightly punching Nathan's with his own; chuckling he adjusted himself and looked up, right at Claude's disapproving face.

"What!?!?" the telepath asked in protest and the English man just shook his head not even wanting to grace him with a response.

"Is that surprising?" Nathan asked a bit taken a back considering who was asking the question.

"When I see you two, you seem pretty close."

A soft hiss went around the table and Sylar looked around, obviously confused about his observation.

"What?" the killer questioned, genuinely naïve about the situation.

"Nathan can't stand Peter," Matt revealed, overcoming his dislike of the murderer "he has an ulcer _and _Heidi left him because of Peter, not because of his cheating."

"Even _I _knew that, and I see them less than you do." the Haitian said snidely and Sylar fixed him with a look, "If you think that I am intimidated by you and your ridiculous eyebrows, you are sadly mistaken."

Sylar cocked his head to the side, a smirk twisting his lips "I liked you better when you were silent."

"Let's get back to the game." Matt chided and reached a hand over his cards again, going to pick them up.

"Why is your brother in the closet?" the Haitian asked, directing his attention to Nathan.

Matt sighed and cradled his cheek in his hand, watching the conversation with dull eyes.

"Because Peter isn't exactly the brightest crayon in the box," the flying man answered matter-of-fact "and he'd ruin the game."

"So why not leave him at home?" Sylar questioned smoothly again.

"Because then he'd cry himself to dehydration with Claude gone." the older Petrelli answered tiredly, rubbing his temples.

The Haitian and Sylar looked at Claude expectantly and the bearded one shrugged, not wanting to be dragged into the discussion.

"I don't think that it's mentally healthy to keep your brother locked in a closet." the serial killer stated simply, drumming his fingers against the felt top of the table.

"I don't think it's mentally healthy to go around cutting off the tops of people's heads." Nathan grumbled, staring at the sybrows.

"Hey, you say tomato…"

"Can we stop with the bloody interrogation and get on with it!" Claude growled, looking at all the participants.

Matt was currently watching the exchange with slight curiosity, enjoying the sight of Nathan getting aggravated.

"Fine." Nathan stated, reaching for his cards when another thud stopped him from picking them up "Lord," he hissed "Peter stay still!"

A muffled whimper made its way through the door and both Nathan and Claude hung their heads, an expression contorting their features in a way that is normally seen on battered, tired, and annoyed parents.

"Stay still!" Claude commanded, the entire party shifting uncomfortably. The sounds ceased and he breathed a sigh of relief, it was so rare when he got a breather away from the pup.

"Finally." Matt grumbled and quickly snatched up his cards "Aha!" he cried victoriously, shaking them tauntingly in his grasp.

"I can see your cards." Sylar said, his attention on his own cards as he re-arranged them carefully.

"No you can't." Matt chuckled, shaking his head.

"You have a 2 and a 6." Sylar commented, still re-arranging.

"And a 5." the Haitian added, his voice bored.

"You guys suck." Matt snapped, hiding his cards below his cupped hand.

"No one told you to wave them around." Nathan shrugged.

"Et tu Brute?" Matt remarked disbelievingly, looking at his friend.

Nathan ignored his comment, staring down at his hand intensely. Luck was definitely on his side. He tried with difficulty to hide a smile and settled for clearing his throat and looking around the table confidently.

Claude was busy flicking a lighter and putting it to his waiting cigar, inhaling the smoke greedily "You look like you just got your jollies off Petrelli."

Nathan looked at the British man innocently "Not sure what you're talking about."

The politician made a mental note to stop inviting Claude to game night, he was too observant and therefore a dangerous opponent.

Sylar opened his mouth to say something when a pitiful whine pierced the air, pulling their attention back towards the closet.

"Did you feed him?" Nathan questioned the older man and Claude nodded "He's normally not this bad."

"Maybe we should let him out…" Matt suggested carefully.

Nathan spun on him, "Remember what happened last time we let him out?"

"He only baked us cookies."

"**He was chanting the **_**entire **_**time**!_" _Nathan and Claude fumed in unison.

"Maybe we could gag him." Sylar said nonchalantly.

Four pairs of eyes regarded him with disgust and Sylar looked around at them "It was just a suggestion!"

"You're sick." Nathan stated slowly, the shock evident in his voice.

Sylar looked around the table aghast, his arms open wide as if asking 'What'd I say!?"

Nathan chuckled and waved his hand through the air "I'm just pulling your leg Gray, we've tried gagging him before."

"Little bugger manages to get it off." Claude reported gruffly.

"Can we please just get back to the game?" the Haitian shifted impatiently in his seat, "I only have so much time away from Bennet before he starts getting antsy."

"Sorry, I didn't know you two were together." Nathan said, fingering his cards.

"Isn't he married?" Matt asked curiously.

"We're not together." the Haitian pointed out, looking down at his hand.

When he looked back up he noticed their dead-pan expressions, "We're not!"

"Whatever you say wifey." Nathan jested, smiling slightly.

"I will make you forget your child support payments Nathan, do not test me."

Nathan grumbled a quiet apology and reached towards the center of the table to flip over a card when- for what seemed the hundredth time that night -a sound emitted from the closet.

"_PETER_!!!" Nathan roared and stood, angrily stomping over to the closet door.

"Don't do anything rash Petrelli!" Sylar warned.

"Shut up!" Nathan spat and yanked open the door.

"I'm Freeeeeee!!!" Peter cried out joyously and sped past his older brother, bounding over to the card table.

"Oh for Fuck's sake!" Claude groaned and put a hand over his eyes.

"Hi Matt!" Peter greeted enthusiastically.

"Hey Peter." the telepath smiled, enjoying the current situation completely.

Peter greeted the Haitian in a similar fashion, but when he got to Sylar he stopped and gasped.

"What's he doing here?" he asked quietly, shuffling to hide behind Matt.

Nathan was glaring hard over at his younger brother, "He's here to play."

"But he's a killer!" Peter argued "And he stalks Momo! He's a bad bad man…"

"Momo," Sylar chuckled, "that's cute. But no one talks about my chocolate prince!" the murderer finished darkly and Peter whimpered, ducking behind Matt's chair.

"Chocolate Prince?" the Haitian asked incredulously.

"Yeah, I thought of it in the ice cream shop the other day." Sylar admitted briskly, "It's so fitting."

"Right…" the Haitian trailed off, obviously disturbed.

An awkward silence fell on the group as they processed this new, really unsettling, piece of information.

"It does fit actually." Peter admitted finally and both Nathan and Claude shot him looks, "What?!"

Matt shook his head sadly, "Man, that's going to haunt my dreams tonight." he gave a slight shutter to emphasize his point.

"You're all so quick to judge." Sylar growled.

"Are you guys playing UNO again?" Peter inquired excitedly, bouncing up straight.

"Peter," Nathan sighed, aggravated "go make cookies."

"Mm-Kay, CookiesCookiesCookiesCookies!"

The younger Petrelli trotted into the kitchen and Nathan, drained of all patience and energy, dropped down into his waiting chair overcome with annoyance and a pounding Peter migraine.

"You can't start on a Wild Card."

"_I know Claude, _I know."


	5. Who needs Love?

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Heroes.

**Author's Note: **I'm sorry this chapter was so late, but my internet access was completely down. It's back now though (obviously) so Yay!!!! It's a bit shorter than the previous chapters and I apologize for that, but that's just how it came out. I am happy to report that chapter six will be on time though…hopefully! Happy reading.

**Trial and Error**

**Chapter 5**

Who needs Love?

Nathan's office was an uneasy silence as Claude sat in one of the chairs. It was quite eerie to be honest. The glass windows kept the inside quiet while all around it people were bustling passed, chattering loudly on cell phones or to each other, each with a duty that needed to be accomplished.

Claude shifted in his seat, the leather creaking as he did so. The pup's brother wasn't in the room with him, thank God, but that did little to ease the tiny nagging voice in his head.

What had he done to Peter now?

The door opened with the soft tapping of blinds as they hit the window pane, and Nathan smiled at his visitor.

"Claude, what a surprise."

"You told me to come here."

"Right." Nathan nodded and waved his hand at his secretary, shooing her off.

The woman glanced at Claude curiously, a twinkle in her eye showing that she knew something, but before he could inquire she was closing the door. Now it was just him and Nathan.

Lovely.

"Would you like something to drink?" Nathan questioned with feigned politeness.

Claude declined with a shake of his head, watching the flying man carefully.

"I'm sure you're wondering why I asked you to come in."

Claude nodded, deciding that saying little to nothing was probably the best option he could choose at the moment. He never liked Nathan, politicians tended to give him a bad bull-shit rash.

"It's about Peter." Nathan continued, sitting behind his desk and adjusting himself accordingly. "I just want to know what your plans are for the future, for yourself and my brother."

The British man snorted, slumping down in his seat slightly "I'm not gonna marry him, if that's what your on about."

Nathan stiffened slightly, clasping his hands in front of him, "But you are going to be staying with him, right?"

Sighing the ex-company agent fixed the politician with a look, "Why the sudden interest?"

"Because I want to know that you don't have a hidden agenda."

The English man was somewhat surprised at the man's straightforwardness. He expected to be beating around the bush for much longer than had actually transpired. Maybe Nathan wasn't a bad guy after all.

"Considering though you aren't planning on marrying, that puts my mind at ease. It also makes this easier to say." the older Petrelli brother leaned back in his chair, smoothing down his tie as he did so, "I want you to stop seeing my brother."

Bloody Yank!

"Well isn't that surprising!" Claude sneered, "And why's that?"

"Because Peter is a very specia-"

"He's a fuckin' idiot!"

Nathan cleared his throat and looked at the gruff man seriously. "That may be but, I still think it'd be in Peter's best interests if he found someone who was a bit…" he trailed off as he cast a judgmental eye on the English man's clothing, "more caring."

"Did your mother putcha up to this?"

"That's none of your conce-."

"She did, didn't she."

"Claude, I'm doing this for my brothe-"

"Oh what a crock of shi-"

"Yes, she did." Nathan finally answered in a rush of breath.

"I knew it!" Claude cried triumphantly, "You Petrelli's, always runnin' around doin' what mummy tells ya' to!"

Nathan kept a steely eye on the English man, not at all appreciating the observation. He did things without his mother's say so. He was a man after all, not some child. This was just a favor for his mom…yeah.

"That aside," Nathan ground out, "she still doesn't want you with Peter."

"Ah, and what about you?"

"Honestly Claude, I couldn't give a rat's ass." Nathan admitted his voice weary. "Peter's a grown man he can make his own decisions…some of the time. I'm more surprised that you've lasted this long. What's it gonna be, a year at the end of next month?"

The English man gulped inaudibly. A year? He never spent a year in any one place, he was always moving about making sure that he didn't get tied down in the ridiculous rituals that people called their lives.

Nathan noticed a bit of sweat on the rugged man's brow and mentally patted himself on the back. He knew Claude would be a commitment phobe. Peter would be single soon enough and his nagging mother would finally be off his back. The future seemed bright.

"Sounds 'bought right." Claude grunted after a while.

Damn, Petrelli had got him good. But poodle did make the best cookies around and his sandwiches…

The British man quietly fantasized about the many sandwiches that the younger Petrelli had made him.

Roast beef.

Ham.

Corned beef.

Tuna.

And that amazing BLT.

A sob almost escaped him. He could never let go of those delicious sandwiches. He would die before he let anyone else get their hands on one. Those sandwiches, those sumptuous pieces of heaven, were one of the only things keeping him with the dreamy idiot. That and he was a good lay.

While Claude was busy fantasizing about his snacks, Nathan was currently in deal mode, babbling smoothly about how it would benefit the Briton a great deal if he would throw the relationship to the gutter.

Claude felt anger begin to pulsate throughout his being. How could this ass think he had a right to step into their lives and drive them apart?

He would never leave his sandwiches.

"You're off your nut Petrelli." Claude ground out, standing from his chair, "You're brother's going to hit the roof when he hears about this."

"Claude, think about what you're doing." Nathan said calmly, "You said it yourself, Peter is an idiot. You're not. How do you expect to continue your life with him?"

He would never admit it out loud but the politician was starting to make sense. The boy was a few fries short of a happy meal. And that chanting, his damn chanting. Day in and day out it was nonstop, even when they were in the middle of a good fuck.

"Whu?" the invisible man raced back from his thoughts after having heard Nathan say something, "What was that?"

"I'm willing to pay you $10,000 dollars to leave my brother alone."

Claude's mouth dropped open. The audacity, the nerve, the sheer sick determination this man had!

"No deal, I love your brother." the English man spat.

Nathan saw the bearded one in a new light. Maybe their relationship wasn't just a sham. Maybe this man had defied all odds and fallen in love with a complete moron.

"It would take at least $50,000 for me to even consider it."

Or maybe not.

"And a new coat!" the gruff man continued, ticking each request off on his fingers. "An apartment, you know what, make it two coats and I want some wings from that place on 131st St."

Nathan's eyes were wide as he scribbled down the slightly older man's demands, "Geez you want a lot." Nathan paused for a second, "Extra crispy or regular?"

"Extra crispy, and make'em hot."

'Good man.' Nathan thought. Maybe he would get some for himself while he was down there.

"Should I add a pony to that?" Nathan muttered.

"Don't get fresh with me Petrelli, I'm doin' you a favor."

'A very expensive favor.' the older brother thought forlornly.

"$50,000 is a lot to just leave my brother, and you want an apartment on top of that?"

"Fine, $25,000 and an apartment."

"And the coats?" Nathan inquired, looking up at the bearded man.

"Non-negotiable."

Dammit.

"Deal." the politician finally sighed, running a tired hand through his hair.

"You drive a hard bargain." Claude sat back down, resting his fore arms on his knees, "I dunno how I'm gonna' tell your brother."

"That's another thing." Nathan clasped his hands in front of him again.

He whispered softly to the other man, telling him his plans and how it would play out. He didn't want any of the nosy bodies in his office hearing him.

For once though, Nathan didn't have anything to fear. His secretary and her co-workers were all too busy with various tasks to take time to listen in on him, even though they would have loved to. The fact that the two had been cooped up in there for so long had peaked everyone's curiosity, but they would have to deal with not knowing…for now.

"You're a mean bastard." Claude growled, shoving a piece of gum into his mouth, wishing it was a Cigar instead.

Nathan shrugged half-heartedly, knowing this to be true. "If you were raised the way I was, you would understand."

Claude gave a snort in response and stood from his seat, "You done?"

Nathan nodded and turned his attention onto a few sheets of paper on his desk.

"Nice talking to you Claude."

The British man didn't respond, he just walked quickly to the door and out of his office. He was grateful that their meeting had ended. He had quite a bit to mull over.

Did he really want to leave the pup?

He'd be well off if he did…but it would tear Peter to shreds. In reality, why should he care? People would turn on you sooner or later, and he had already spent a while with the empath. It was time to move on.

So then why did he feel so…off?

Fuck.


	6. Your Tracks are Creepy

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Heroes.

**Author's Note: **The update is on time, YAY!!! It's a miracle! Anyway, hopefully the next one will be too, LoL. Hope you enjoy this chapter ^_^. Happy reading!

**Trial and Error **

**Chapter 6 **

Your Tracks are Creepy

Mohinder pushed away the paperwork in front of him, bending down to rest his head against the table. He had been staring at bills all day, budgeting the family spending and making sure that everything was paid on time.

Matt was at work-thank the heavens- and Molly was still at school, so the apartment was quiet-well, as quiet as an apartment in Brooklyn could be- and it was much welcomed.

Mohinder sat up again and stretched. He let out a yawn and stood from his chair, the thought of a fresh cup of tea driving him towards the kitchen stove. It was rare when he had a moment of time to himself.

As much as he hated when Matt teased him about it, he was like the wife in the relationship. The geneticist was normally running around frantically, not only fussing over his own work but Molly's schoolwork and then with the added stress of Matt…it seemed he never got a break.

He prayed that today was different though, he needed it to be different or he feared he would snap.

Unfortunately, fate had other plans.

Raindrops fell against the windows and Mohinder slumped slightly. Rain always made him tired and he did not have time to sleep. Pouring himself a cup of tea he sat back down and sipped it carefully and thoughtfully, losing himself in the warm feeling that enveloped his body. Then the phone rang, bringing the serene moment to a halt.

The taxi driver muttered angrily, pulled himself up from his seat and made his way over to the phone.

"Hello?"

Rain could be heard on the other end of the line, but no answer.

"Hello?" he asked again, a tinge of annoyance in his voice.

"How's your tea?"

Mohinder furrowed his brows, "Excuse me?"

"Your tea, is it warm?"

An aggravated sigh burst from the professor's lips, "Sylar."

"You know me too well my chocolate angel."

"Don't call me that."

"But it fits so well." the murderer breathed.

"Why are you calling here? And how did you know I was drinking tea?" Mohinder asked impatiently.

"I needed to hear your voice." the serial killer answered briskly.

"And the tea?"

"You're predictable." Sylar responded simply.

"If I'm so predictable," Mohinder snapped, a challenge in his voice "what cup am I drinking from?"

"The one with a human DNA replica as the handle."

The Indian man stood silent, hating that Sylar had guessed correctly. Was he really that obvious?

"What do you want?"

"Your mocha arms wrapped arou-"

"What are you calling for?!" Mohinder rephrased the question quickly, rubbing his hand across his eyes. He didn't know how much more of this he could take.

Sylar was silent, hoping that it would make him seem like he was just trying to be a bother. In truth he really didn't have a reason for calling the genetics professor other than that he was bored and Mohinder was the only one he could think about calling, as usual.

Good thing Mohinder's attention was taken away by the front door opening.

Matt, drenched from head to toe, was standing there in the doorway with a 2-liter of soda and Chinese take out.

"Hey Mo!"

Sylar clenched his fist at the nickname. How dare he address Mohinder that way!

Mohinder waved frantically at Matt to shut up mouthing to him 'it's Sylar!' and pointing at the phone.

"Wha?" Matt looked at him confused, "Are you playing charades?"

The taxi driver slapped his hand against his forehead and ran it down his face. It was official, he was surrounded by idiots.

Ignoring him, Matt took off his coat and hung it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "You always leave the blinds down. It gets so dark in here!"

Striding over to the window, Matt pulled up the blinds and let out-to his dismay-a high pitched girlish scream. The officer jumped back, a hand pressed against his chest. "Jesus Christ!"

There, outside the window, hand pressed against the glass, was Sylar; soaked through to the bone and a cell phone held to his ear.

The serial killer smirked at the man's reaction and moved his gaze to Mohinder who was still holding the phone. If the Indian man was impressed, he didn't show it.

"Boo."

Mohinder rolled his eyes, "You're insane."

And with that he hung up the phone, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at Sylar through the glass. He was relieved that the murderer had known his actions because he was watching him, not because the professor was predictable.

Matt had gotten over his fright and made his way to the bedroom to put on some dry clothes. "What should we do?"

"Ignore him, he'll go away." the geneticist said flatly, glancing over at the take out bag. "What are you doing home?"

"Left early." the officer informed him walking back over to the table, his clothes now nice and dry. "Thought we could spend some time together."

Mohinder wasn't buying it.

"Why are you really home?"

Matt rubbed at his hair with the towel around his neck and looked a bit sheepish. "I…um…I left early so I could…workonmywizardstick." he cleared his throat.

Knocking came from the window and Mohinder ignored it. He kept his attention on Matt who was currently looking everywhere but at him.

"You what?"

"I came home to work on my wizard stick Mohinder, geez!" the telepath walked around his roommate and started to unpack the take-out bag.

"What the hell is a wizard stick?" Mohinder followed him with his gaze, turning around to face him and ignoring the knocking that was a bit more persistent now.

"A wizard stick," Matt explained as he inspected each box of food, looking for his sesame chicken. "is a tower of beer cans that you have drank yourself. You place one on top of the other until it's taller than you and bam! You have a completed wizard stick."

If looks could kill Matt would be dead ten times over. Mohinder crossed his arms over his chest and glared hard at the rotund man. "I cannot believe that you left work _early _to do something so stupid!"

The knocking now was coming in rhythmic burst. Was that shave and a haircut?

Mohinder spun around about to tell Sylar to shut it when the window slid open and the serial killer climbed in completely soaked.

"I can't believe you left me out there! I come over to visit and this is how you treat me?!"

Matt glanced at the two and grabbed his food. "I'll be in Molly's room watching TV." He scurried away before anything else could be said.

The geneticist watched the officer's retreating back and sighed looking back at the serial killer who was dripping all over there floor.

"Close the window!" Mohinder demanded and Sylar obliged, closing it gently with his telekinesis.

"Why are you here?!"

Sylar wrapped his arms around him self. "Can I at least get a towel?"

"No!"

Five minutes later the murderer was wrapped up in a warm towel with a cup of warm un-drugged tea in his hands.

"You always make the best te-"

"Just shut up and tell me why you're here." Mohinder said tiredly, making a mental note to burn the towel that Sylar was using. He didn't want Molly catching something from it.

Sylar smirked and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out something square and plastic. The genetics professor watched him cautiously, not wanting to fall for any tricks the murderer had up his sleeve.

"What is it?"

The serial killer didn't answer. He just flipped it over in his hands, glanced it over and handed it to the professor.

Mohinder took it, inspecting it carefully. It was a CD. From the looks of it, it was a homemade mix CD. Flipping it over to view the tracks he all but threw the CD down onto the floor.

"What the hell is that?!?!" he asked incredulously, shock evident on his face at he looked at the murderer.

"It's a mix CD." Sylar answered, looking a bit annoyed at having his gift thrown onto the floor.

"I can see that!" the Indian man responded, stepping away from the case. "The tracks-"

"Describe us so perfectly?"

The taxi driver fixed Sylar with a look and in the blink of an eye the towel was ripped away from him. "Hey!"

Mohinder pointed to the door. "Out!"

Sylar looked at him angrily and leaned back against the couch. "You can't make me."

The genetics professor bristled, how could one man be so endlessly annoying?

"Sylar, you're acting like a child. Get out!"

The serial killer ignored him while he sipped gingerly at his tea. Mohinder ran an aggravated hand through his hair and then smirked, an idea popping into his head.

"If you don't leave I will crush your CD."

The serial killer balked. "What?!"

"If you don-"

"I heard you!" Sylar growled, standing from the couch. "And you say I'm the cruel one?"

Mohinder shrugged and pointed at the door again.

"That's why I love you." the murderer stated smoothly, taking a hand and running it along the geneticist's cheek.

The Indian man launched himself backwards and rubbed at the soiled cheek angrily. "Out, Out, Out!"

Sylar chuckled and made his way out of the apartment, making sure to slam the door shut behind him. He knew Mohinder would be the kind of person to hate that.

Not two seconds later Molly opened the front door. Her raincoat stuck to her body. "Was that Sylar walking down the hall?"

Mohinder didn't answer. He slumped down on the couch, a hand over his eyes. Molly removed her backpack and raincoat and walked over to her guardian's side, stepping on something on the way.

Looking back at the floor the young brunette furrowed her brows and picked it up, studying the case carefully. Her eyes brightened as she noticed the tracks. She loved some of these songs.

In an attempt to raise Mohinder's spirits, she ran over to the small stereo that Matt had bought and pushed the CD in, turning the knob to an appropriate volume.

"This song always makes me feel better Mohinder!" she chimed happily, running over to join him on the couch.

The emotionally scarred taxi driver raised his head and looked around as string instruments played softly from the speakers.

"Molly…what CD is this?"

Molly shrugged, "I found it on the floor."

Mohinder's eyes widened and he stood, trying to reach the stereo before he heard anymore.

"_What would I give to live where you are?_

_What would I pay to stay here beside you?"_

"Mohinder, leave it!" Molly cried, wanting to hear the rest. "I really like The Little Mermaid."

Crushed, he slid into a kitchen chair and against his wishes and better judgment, listened to the song. He wondered darkly if Molly would notice if he killed himself right there.

"_Watch and you'll see._

_Someday I'll be,_

_Part or your world."_

Fuck his life.


End file.
